


think of it as taking a sabbatical.

by wookiees



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Drug Use, Family Bonding, Father-Daughter Relationship, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-10-19 21:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10648260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wookiees/pseuds/wookiees
Summary: "I think it's time Vox Machina and I parted ways."Immediately after Episode 85 and spanning the year long time skip; Scanlan and Kaylie Shorthalt set out on the roads of Exandria. It's not guaranteed to be smooth sailing but maybe with a little course-correction, they'll get to where they're going.





	1. my mother on an evening in late summer.

Two small figures walked along the path toward the Turst Fields, heading away from Whitestone, though still winding close enough to it's outer walls. Their silhouettes outlined by the yellow gleam of the setting sun. Scanlan, despite being weighed down with all of his belongings, walks slightly ahead of Kaylie with obvious determination. However, they're mutual in their silence. 

Neither of them were truly ready to take a long trip. Only Kaylie seemed to acknowledge that fact. A worried glance told her that Scanlan was hardly in any shape to travel. She would've like to tell her father— _she'd finally decided on whether or not Scanlan deserved the title whilst he was still unconscious. though, was unsure if she'd ever call him it out loud._ — that he should pace himself. The dumbass only just roused from his death-induced coma, after all. She took time out of her life to come Whitestone, bring him back to life and sit by his bedside in waiting. Kaylie had no desire to drag his exhausted body through the rest of Tal'Dorei, should he wear himself out before they even make it outside of the province.

Ultimately, though, Kaylie understood his need for space. Having been on the other side of the door as Vox Machina erupted. And that desire to avoid emotional conflicts by getting as far away as possible from the epicenter? That's something she knew first hand. It's what she'd done with Scanlan only a few months ago. It was, apparently, a Shorthalt trait.

So, she lets him walk ahead of her but keeps a watchful eye on him, nonetheless. 

They get rather far in the first few hours of their trip. They're still quiet aside from the occasional tune that Scanlan hums to himself. Kaylie decides she can't take the silence anymore. Besides, a question has been burning a hole in the back of her throat. "What was Juniper like?" 

"Oh," Scanlan stops dead in his tracks ahead of her. "You heard that much, huh?” 

"I did." Kaylie, taking the opportunity to catch up with Scanlan now that he's stopped, quickly notices the way his brows have furrowed. "Take yer time answerin' if ya have to. Just don't hold us up any longer, yeah?" 

He nods and as they start down the path again, he thinks back to last night. The state he’d woken up in, the looks of shock from his friends— _could he even still call them that?_ — as he laid into them. Some of the things he said were honest and true to his feelings. The others were meant to cause enough harm for them to let him leave. Because he knew they'd be stubborn in the belief that they cared about him and would make it difficult for him to say goodbye. So, he hit them where it hurt. Tried to make them hate him just enough to let him walk away but not enough to never let him come back. 

Now, Scanlan is considering the possibility that he did more damage than he intended to. The way he and Vox Machina parted ways left him with an aching wound. Not like the actual wound he now possessed. A streak of large claw marks raked across his torso, courtesy of Raishan. No, this was one that couldn't be mended with the passage of time or healing magic. Scanlan supposes both are just another scar added to his growing list. But it all happened in such a blur that the details of their fight are foggy to him.

The only thing still clear in his head was the way Kaylie looked as she reentered the room, tears streaking down her cheeks, when she asked him; _"Are ya coming?"_

Suddenly, as if the cruel universe was privy to this sudden thought of wounds, Scanlan plants his left foot directly in a dip along the path. The immediate unevenness of his stance sends shooting pain through the weal on his stomach. He clutches his side and noticing this, Kaylie immediately offers her arm to brace him. Politely, Scanlan shrugs her off. It's a sharp and throbbing pain but he can manage so long as he doesn't focus on it. Instead, he tries to think. He tries recall his mother. 

“She was, um—” He squints at nothing, still looking ahead at the path before them. Scanlan hasn’t realized it until now, since Juniper’s never come up much in recent conversation, but he’s forgotten a lot about his mother. And he’s having trouble remembering her as anything more than just a lifeless and bloodied face. He closes his eyes, clears his head of that gruesome picture and tries to dig deeper for a fragment of something he can use to tell Kaylie about the former most important person in his life. 

But all he remembers is music. So, naturally, Scanlan starts by recalling all of those memories of songs he knows that he learned from her. And eventually the others come flooding back to him too. 

He remembers the sound of her smooth alto singing him lullabies or old sea shanties she'd picked up in their little port town. And he remembers that he eventually picked up on singing too. Though, he much preferred to sing tall-tales and nonsense epics, all in an effort to make his mother laugh. 

Her laugh. _That_ , he can remember. It was booming and infectious. And when she laughed, she'd always cover her mouth with her hands. The hands of a worker. Nails dirtied and fingers calloused from a hard life but gentle nonetheless. 

And with that memory came the memory of her plucking away at a lute, singing him a story that she'd heard whilst arm wrestling a dwarf one night in their local tavern. She had big, strong arms. Muscles that could rival Pike Trickfoot's own. And she used them to wrap him up and tickle him relentlessly whilst he was restrained, blowing raspberries into his neck as he screamed with childish glee. 

He'd been so young when he'd lost her. It all seemed like forever ago. 

Scanlan wipes a tear that’s fallen down his cheek and opens his eyes again. Kaylie is watching him, an eyebrow quirked, not really sure what to make of his tears. 

“She was strong but gentle. And, she loved music. We used to sing together, actually. And she always told me I had the better voice but I still don’t believe that's true." He smiles wistfully at Kaylie, "She was a good mother but I think she would’ve much rather have been a bard.” 

"Instead she left a legacy of bards." Kaylie gives him a nod, "I gotta think that'd be almost as good as bein' one yerself." 

"Yeah," Scanlan says rather distantly. 

A small silence falls between them, filled only by the distant sound of birds chirping, the crunching of dirt beneath their boots and the shifting of items inside their traveling packs. Scanlan decides then that he's done with the constant awkward silence. He and Kaylie have years worth of catching up to do and he's tired of wasting it on less important matters. Wasn't that ultimately why he shed himself of Vox Machina and set out on this road with her in the first place? They've got to start somewhere and since they're already on the topic of mothers, Scanlan figures theres no better time to ask. 

"What about Sybil?" He asks abruptly.

Kaylie startles, "What?"

"Your mother," Scanlan says. Slowly this time. He's suddenly worried that he got her name wrong, "It was _Sybil_ , right?" 

"It was." She hesitates, "Ya really don't remember her, do ya?" 

"I remember bits and pieces," Scanlan rubs the back of his neck. He feels guilty. "I've tried to remember more but she came at a very difficult time in my life, I think. A time that I really wanted to forget, y'know? So, it's all sort of fuzzy for me." 

"Alright. Then we should pay her a visit." She brushes a hand through her short hair, giving him a scathing look. "Would that refresh yer shoddy memory?" 

"She's alive?" 

"Of course she's alive, ya bastard!" Kaylie doesn't sound surprised by his misconception but she doesn't sound amused either. "Why do you think I told the troupe to detour to Kymal? Ya told us to head to Vasselheim but I wasn't goin' anywhere without her when there were dragons fuckin' about. And thats where yer pretty little half-elf friend found my drunken arse." 

"I'm sorry." Scanlan blinks in shock, "I just assumed—" 

"Yeah, well, you assumed wrong." Kaylie shoves her hands in her pockets and shrugs, "We're not exactly on the best of terms but, then again, we never were." 

"Oh," Scanlan chuckles. "Her too?" 

"I need to see her again soon, anyways." Kaylie tactfully ignores him, "Never did get a chance to drop in before ya died and had me whisked away." 

They lock eyes and it's then that Scanlan realizes Kaylie's suggestion is a serious one. The pit thats already in his stomach seems to grow in size. He doesn't know if he can face Sybil. Fate (or rather, Kaylie's revenge plot) bringing him face-to-face with his daughter that night in Emon already forced him into spiral that he'd yet to recover from. And yet...

He gives Kaylie a sheepish look, "Would she even want to see me?" 

"I could never get her to shut up about ya," She huffs but the affection in her words is poorly disguised. At least to Scanlan, who considers himself somewhat of an expert when it comes to masked emotions. "I'm sure she'd be thrilled to see yer ugly mug again. She's forgiving. More than I am, at least." 

"That’s comforting," He replies with crisp sarcasm.

Kaylie smiles but looks away at the path ahead. "Suppose we'll slowly make our way to Kymal then?" 

"Yeah," Scanlan nods. "Alright."


	2. dying is easy, living is harder.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw; drug use and a brief but pretty icky description of an infected wound.
> 
> Scanlan falls into old habits and Kaylie lays down the law.

Wood crackles in their camp fire, sending embers up into the night air. It's a quiet scene, Scanlan sits with lute in hand and Mythcarver leaned against the log he's sitting on. Across from him, Kaylie is rummaging through her rucksack but her face glows in the fire light, casting shadows in the hollows of her cheeks, dramatically defining her features. She has his jawline. And, he thinks, even though she doesn’t show it often enough for him to really get a good look at it— that she has his smile too. He wonders if he'll be able to see which features are Sybil's after their soon-to-be reunion.

They'd just finished a small dinner of cooked vegetables. The dish had become a staple of their little road trip thus far. Kaylie had very little complaints but Scanlan, who'd grown accustomed to chicken dinners in his mansion (which he was remiss to conjuring up altogether due to the memories held within it's magical walls) and food provided by diligent and often times magical kitchen staff— found it a bit hard to stomach. 

"We didn't grab nearly enough food rations from yer noble friend's kitchen," As she says that her travel pack flies across their small campsite and hits the ground with a thump, kicking up a small cloud of dust. "But figurin' as how they covered ya in pudding, I don't imagine they would've had much left for givin' away." Scanlan visibly tenses at the mention of that incident. Kaylie takes notices. 

"They thought ya would've laughed at that," She reasons. "It had me in stitches." 

A few months ago, Scanlan might've burst a lung from hysterics if he'd awoken with his wrists tied to bed posts, dawning a nightgown and covered in pudding. And while it's easy for Kaylie to see how someone (most likely a being with a stick lodged up their arse) might find such an act malapropos, she would never have taken Scanlan to be that person. 

The gnome sitting before her— who's frown is visible in the firelight— was not the Scanlan Shorthalt she thought she knew. He wasn't the effervescent and noble adventurer her mother regaled her with stories of. He wasn't even the salacious oathbreaker she'd sought vengeance against for nearly all of her life. And he certainly wasn't Vox Machina's silly little friend with an endless number of tricks up his sleeve. 

He was just existing. 

_And,_ Kaylie thinks, _rather pathetically at that._

"We don't have to talk about them." Scanlan says, dismissively. "You said we were running low on rations? What's missing?" 

Kaylie quirks an eyebrow at the sudden change of subject but doesn't push it. Mostly out of her own indifference. She's not fond of talking about them either. And seeing as how they didn't have many nice things to say about her, she'd be pleased to never hear from or about them again. 

"We've got enough," Kaylie leans back, digging her heels into the dirt and stretches her arms above her head. "We'll just have to restock once we get to the Turst Fields tomorrow. You took a little coin as a parting gift, right? It shouldn't be a problem." 

It's true. After Scanlan had fallen the first time against Raishan in the depths of Thordak's lair, he'd taken two hundred platinum pieces for himself. No one noticed or if they did, they didn't seem to question why he needed so much coin. If only they knew that Scanlan was already making preparations for his departure. 

Kaylie stands suddenly and walks over to grab the rucksack she'd tossed aside. 

"I'm turning in for the night." She announces with a yawn. "You've got first watch?" 

Scanlan nods and watches as she crawls into her bedroll. One thing he's learned about Kaylie on this excursion of theirs; _she snores_. And as the campfire crackles onward, slowly burning down to it's last lick of flame, the crickets begin to fade out but Kaylie's snoring reaches it's crescendo. 

Now that he's certain she's reached a deep sleep, Scanlan begins stripping down his torso. He discards his vest and traveling armor, until he's left in nothing but his undershirt, which he begins unbuttoning. But when he attempts to strip it off, it sticks unpleasantly to his wounds. 

"Just my luck," He mutters. 

The dragon claw marks that raked from his chest and slashed down across his midsection had started toward the healing process whilst he was still in the care of Whitestone's healers. However, since being on the road his own healing words seemed to fail at keep an infection at bay. Where once the wound seemed to be healing over, now the gashes were turning a sickly yellow. The edges of the cuts were turning black and the wound itself seemed to ooze green pus. It's sore, burning and itching all at the same time. Scanlan has to force his unsubstantial vegetable dinner down once again just at the sight of it.

He knows that this is the sort of thing he should be informing Kaylie of. Especially if he's trying to turn over a new leaf and actually let people care about him. Old habits die hard. He's reluctant to worry Kaylie about this new development. Actually, he's reluctant to worry her about anything because she should never have to worry over him in the first place. Not only did Scanlan not deserve that but it wasn't her responsibility. He'd never put that pressure on her and it was only due to his friend's incessant pleading that she even contributed to his ritual back in Whitestone. Scanlan would see to it that was all she'd ever need to do for him again. 

They're only a day out from the Turst Fields, anyhow. He'll invest in some healing potions on top of food rations and Kaylie will be none the wiser. Until then, Scanlan had a temporary solution. He grabbed his traveling pack and shuffled through his items. It was mostly loose paper, a few pocket-sized books filled with nude sketches, the Gatestone Vex had gifted to him and and then finally, he finds what he's looking for. 

The brass flute he'd used to call Devo'ssa. A few measly remains of suude is still packed within it's tenon. With the last bit of flame from their dying campfire, Scanlan lights it up. The sweet scent of burning herbs reaches his nose and he breathes in deeply. All at once, his vision fills with that familiar blur of color and he feels the magic inside him surge. And just as he thinks he's crossed the event horizon, Scanlan sways, his vision blackens and he falls face first into the dirt. 

Kaylie awakes the next morning— surprised to see that it was in fact morning and that Scanlan let her sleep through the night. She sits up, blinking in the daylight and rubbing sleep from her eyes. It's then that she notices her father's slumped over form in the dirt beside their campfire. The sight is enough to make her heart stop.

Immediately, she's jumped out of her bedroll, rushed to his side and rolled him over. His eyes are open, staring out at nothing, devoid of any sign of life. Thankfully, she can see the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes because layers of his clothing have been removed. And Kaylie sees his wound. Crusted and pussing. It's not pretty to look at by any means and there is no way it got like that overnight. 

Anger settles inside of her and Scanlan, likely the only fool around for miles, is about to catch the brunt of it. 

"Oh no, ya don't." Kaylie moves from kneeling beside him to standing over him, "I'm going through this shite with ya again!" 

Without a moment of hesitation, she draws her hand back and brings it down across Scanlan's cheek with a resounding _SMACK!_

Nothing. Not even a twitch. His brown eyes are still staring up at her and there's nothing behind them. It's the same look she found on his face when she'd arrived in Whitestone. Kaylie fumbles to remove the ring from her finger, hands shaking more than she'd care to admit and then slaps him again with the back of her hand. _SMACK!_

Finally, Scanlan's face contorts in pain, eyes squeezed shut, as his hand reaches up to grab his cheek, "Ow." 

He doesn't get a moment to take anything in, save for the sight of Kaylie's face, red with anger, staring down at him.

"When the fuck were ya planning on telling me about yer rotting flesh?" 

He blinks, confused. "What are you talking ab—?" 

Kaylie jabs the side of her foot near enough to the infected wound to cause pain. Scanlan yelps. "That ring a bell?" 

He sits up as Kaylie steps back with a groan; "I just noticed." 

"Noticed when? Before or after ya decided to eat the dirt?" 

Scanlan doesn't reply. They watch each other for a moment, Kaylie's brows are furrowed. He knows she can tell when he's lying. But Kaylie seems to give no indication that she knows why she'd found him passed out by the campfire. Which is fine because on the list of things Scanlan doesn't want to tell his daughter, 'I picked up a drug habit' is somewhere at the top. 

Without a word, Kaylie walks away. She starts gathering up their supplies while Scanlan (still dazed) watched as she passive aggressively rolled up their bedrolls. Once the camp was dismantled, Kaylie tosses his rucksacks down beside him. He hasn't made an attempt to stand up but Kaylie offers him her hand. 

"We're getting ya to the Turst Fields and having someone look at ya." 

"Kaylie." He says, gripping her palm and allowing her to pull him to his feet. "I'm fine." 

She gestures to his torso, "What was the dragon that gave ya that called again?" 

"Raishan," Scanlan says, rebuttoning his shirt. 

"Raishan, _'The—'_?" 

Scanlan sighs, " _Diseased Deceiver_." 

"You've got green goo coming out yer fuckin' side after a diseased dragon tears ya into ribbons." Kaylie summarizes, picking up his discarded vest and armor before shoving it into his arms. "Stop telling me you're fine." 

He frowns, swings his traveling pack over his shoulder and picks up Mythcarver— still leaning against the log from the night prior. And, per her request, stops telling Kaylie he's fine. 

They set out on the road again a few minutes later but walk in utter silence like they had in the first few hours of their time on this path together just days ago. Now, however, the silence was out of anger and mistrust rather than awkwardness. A vexed look has settled onto Kaylie's face. Every now and then, Scanlan catches her looking over at him, most likely to make sure he's still standing but even then her features are hard. 

Once again, Scanlan finds himself feeling guilty. In trying to keep Kaylie from worrying about him, Scanlan only managed to betray her trust. And he's only keeping more secrets from her but he's not ready to admit to his drug habit just yet. Besides, given that he just smoked his last stash and Jarrett is back in Whitestone, Scanlan is intent on quitting cold turkey. 

The thick boreal forest of the Parchwood begins to thin out into rolling hills of wheat and their path becomes winding. There are a few buildings scattered throughout the fields, though nothing particularly impressive, it's mostly grain mills, homesteads, hovels and farmhouses. Scanlan thinks he can make out a few silhouettes working the fields but it's too far to tell for certain. The further they walk along the path, which has transformed from cobbled stone to dirt, the closer the buildings come together. Finally, they reach the village itself. 

Scanlan has been to the Turst Fields once before but he and Vox Machina were too busy in planning the liberation of Whitestone for him to really take it all in. It's not a very large village, small even in comparison to the likes of similar villages like Drynna and Stillben. The number of animals milling around seem to outnumber that of the people. 

A small halfling boy rushes past the two gnomes, eagerly chasing after a chicken. Kaylie grabs him by the wrist before he can get past them. 

"Have ya got a healer of some sort in this hicktown?" She asks, her earlier anger seeping out into her tone. The boy stares back at her wide-eyed and clearly startled. He doesn't say a word. 

Scanlan begins digging around in one of his many pockets for a loose coin. 

"Oi, boy!" He juts his chin toward the child and flashes him a copper. "Point us towards the tavern and there's a copper piece in it for you." 

Immediately, the boy points with one hand and holds the other out to Scanlan; "It's called the Drunken Gourd." 

Kaylie scowls at him as Scanlan drops the coin into the boy's palm and begins walking in the direction of the Drunken Gourd. The boy runs off after his chicken again. A glance over his shoulder tells Scanlan that Kaylie hasn't moved. Instead her arms are crossed and she's giving him the dirtiest look he has ever laid eyes on. _And he thought only Pike and Vex'ahlia could shame him._

"I said we were gettin' ya to a healer." 

"You look like you could use a drink. Besides, barkeeps are better people to ask for information." He motions over his shoulder for Kaylie to follow and with a roll of her eyes, she reluctantly trudges after him. 

The Drunken Gourd is nearly empty— not an unusual thing for a tavern to be during the day— save for a handful of patrons (most likely drunkards) already passed out from their drink. Scanlan waltzes right up to the bar, resting one arm on the bar top and smiling brightly at the older woman behind the counter. 

"Could my daughter and I bother a lovely woman such as yourself for two rooms, a drink and information?" Scanlan's voice is practically dripping with his signature charm. A few moments later, they've paid for two rooms (a few gold knocked down from the original price) and have been told of a Cleric by the name of Cruven, who should be happy to help with Scanlan's current predicament. 

"I am afraid he works in the fields during the day, though." The old woman says as she's pouring ale into cups made of hollowed out gourds and sliding it towards the two gnomes. "But you can visit him at his store on the farther side of town later. I'll send word and let him know you're coming." 

"That’s more than fine," Scanlan nods. "Thank you." 

Once the barkeep is out of earshot, Kaylie's nose wrinkles in revulsion. "Ugh, that's unnatural." 

"What is?" Scanlan has already skulled his. 

"Drinkin' ale from a vegetable." Kaylie takes a long swig despite her complaining. "Disgusting." 

The afternoon fades into early evening and Scanlan and Kaylie finish their drinks before splitting ways to leave their various belongings in their rooms upstairs. There's enough people packed into the tavern below now that Scanlan can hear their voices through the floorboards. The work day must've come to an end.

He's already changed out of his clothing, tinged with dirt and musky smelling, into a fresher and far less flashy outfit. And as he's carefully tucking Mythcarver into the back corner of a wardrobe for safe keeping when someone knocks on the door to his room. It makes him jump. 

"Oi!" Before Scanlan can call out a greeting, Kaylie enters and unceremoniously plops herself down on the edge of the bed. "We're gonna have a little talk, you and I." 

Scanlan accepts his fate and gets cozy by leaning up against the wardrobe, "Lay it on me." 

"How long you were planning on keeping that from me," Kaylie points directly at the spot where the infected gashes are hidden underneath the layers of Scanlan's attire.

He touches the spot almost defensively, "I didn't want you to worry." 

"Look," Kaylie sets her jaw. "I know ya don't want to be alive again. Thats pretty clear." 

Scanlan opens his mouth to interject but Kaylie cuts him off. 

"But ya made me a promise, right? And now you've got a second chance at keeping it." She jabs a finger into Scanlan's chest for emphasis and furrows her brow, "That means don't go dying of whatever that is cookin' here until I'm through with you." 

And with that, Kaylie retreats. The door shuts behind her and Scanlan's left alone with nothing but the garbled chatter below his feet. He sits there in solitude for a long while. The things he'd said back in Whitestone were a mess of half-truths and unsorted feelings. They were things Kaylie wasn't supposed to hear. Hence why he asked her to vacate the room before going in on Vox Machina. 

Scanlan said he wanted to just 'be a Shorthalt for a while' but truthfully, he doesn't even know what he meant by that. 

He hadn't been himself since— Well, he can't actually remember ever being Scanlan Shorthalt. He lost himself a long time ago and whatever parts of the old Scanlan still existed, died back in Thordak's Lair and then again that same day in the necromancer's tomb. 

Which means Scanlan can't _just be_. Especially, when one considers that him being here now— standing there alone in that unfamiliar room surrounded by the muffled sounds of other strangers' lives— was a fluke. A gift from Pike, sure. But still not how fate had planned it. Someone was trying to yank his strings. And it still _feels_ like it too. He's detached. Like he's floating half way between death and life and the call to the void is stronger than it ever was before.

But Kaylie is right, _he still owes her that promise_. And so, he inhales, musters up what little bravado he still has left within and then heads back downstairs to find his daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are back! I realized after I wrote 6k+ words that the Turst Fields part of this story might have to be split into multiple parts but I wanted to get the good stuff out before the year time skip episode airs (it airs tonight). So, if the ending of this chapter seems a tad abrupt, thats why! But fear not I've already written most of the third chapter and it should be out soon.


	3. a funny thing happened on the way to sobriety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scanlan and Kaylie line up some work, meet another in the long list of good-looking Clerics that roam Tal'Dorei and Scanlan finds out that the Turst Fields, may have more to offer him than just agriculture and a brief reprieve from the likes of Vox Machina.

Scanlan emerges from the upstairs inn and descends the staircase. He's watching the crowd with a new curiosity. The tavern is packed just like it sounded from above. Farm folk, with their faces sun-kissed and caked in dirt, have already started to flood in after their day's work. It's been quite a while since he'd seen such a large gathering of working folk in one place. This is exactly the sort of joint he'd be playing in back before he joined up with even Dr. Dranzel. But he doesn't have time to reminisce, Kaylie is already on his case. So, Scanlan pushes through various legs on his way towards the bar.

Despite her earlier complaining, Scanlan knows Kaylie's vice and she'd be hard-pressed to avoid a drink (especially after their tense conversation back upstairs). Surprisingly, however, she's not drinking. Instead, Kaylie is talking up a halfling girl, who's arms are laden with empty half-gourd cups. Her plump freckled-face is framed by a head of unruly, blonde curls. She's smiling brightly at her.

"Oi," Scanlan greets.

"Oh, good." Kaylie acknowledges him with a look, her smiling fading. "I was beginning to think I'd have to drag yer arse down here. This is Morelle."

She gestures to the halfling.

"Hello!" Morelle beams, shifting the cups in her arms. "I'd shake your hand but the gourds."

Scanlan nods, "And Morelle is—?" 

"She wants to know our rate," Kaylie sets her elbow on the table, resting her cheek on her knuckles. "Seems to think a couple of traveling bards like ourselves could really cheer up the folks around here."

"Oh." He blinks, "Oh! Uh, well, that's very sweet of you. But we're not staying for long—"

"I already said we'd do it," Kaylie clarifies. "She pays well." 

Scanlan lowers his voice, "We have plenty of coin, Kaylie." 

"Well— Now we'll have a little more, father."

"We shouldn't stick around here for long."

"No one's after ya! Besides, yer not going anywhere with yer wound looking like that, so y'best get comfortable and find some work."

Morelle smiles awkwardly, glancing between the two of them and then — "Alright! Well, I must say I'm excited to see you two play. We've had a lot of bards come through here but never a father-daughter act before!"

That’s enough to quiet the little spat Scanlan and Kaylie were having. They turn from whispering loudly to one another, to looking at Morelle. She's smiling at them innocently enough. Scanlan opens his mouth to say something but Kaylie's quicker on the draw.

"We're not a father-daughter act," She says.

"Well, you could've fooled me." Morelle turns to leave but barely takes more than two steps before she's turned back to them, "Oh! And I'm supposed to tell you that Cruven's back?" 

And with that she disappears into the crowd.

Kaylie runs a hand through her disheveled hair with a huff, "They don't raise women with brains out here."

"It was a fair assumption," Scanlan shrugs. "We are technically a father and daughter."

"That’s not our act, though!" She says. "We don't even have an act."

Scanlan smiles almost wistfully and Kaylie's eyes narrow — " _What?_ "

"Dueling flutes." He says, simply.

She lets out a chuckle, "Oh. That time I robbed ya blind, y'mean?"

"No, I mean that time that I let you win." Scanlan corrects.

"Alright, shut up. Let's get ya looked at, yeah?" Kaylie waves her hands and slides off the bar stool before grabbing Scanlan by the wrist, dragging him out of the Drunken Gourd and into the late afternoon of the Turst Fields.

It's a short walk from the tavern to what is apparently Cruven's shop. The building is little more than a hovel. A few boards are missing from the side paneling and grass is growing on the roof. A sign on the front door says 'closed' but Kaylie elects to ignore it, the door is unlocked and she manages to push right through until they're standing inside. 

The store is more impressive on the inside. A countless number of herbs are drying out, hung from the ceiling in neatly tied bundles. Sunlight streams in from opening in the roof, casting long beams across the floor. 

"Are you Cruven?" She asks the only person inside; a man, cataloguing herbs from his seat at a counter. 

He looks up, "The sign said—" 

Kaylie's hands rest on her hips, "Do ya really think that if I gave a rat's arse what the sign said I'd be standing here, right now?" 

"Right." The man sighs and stands up from his seat at the table. "You must be the folks L'miria was talking about." 

"Are you Cruven then?" Scanlan asks. 

"Yeah, I'm Cruven." He says. "Cleric of Pelor." 

Cruven is a human. And a fairly good-looking one at that. He's dark-skinned and covered from head to toe in freckles with a jawline strong enough to rival Grog's. He watches Scanlan and Kaylie through tired green eyes and he's dressed in simple garb with various potions strapped to his sides. There's a ruggedness to him that not many people naturally possess. 

Scanlan thinks he's the sort of man Vax'ildan would've found handsome. Hell, Scanlan finds him handsome. _What exactly is it about Clerics that makes them jaw-droppingly gorgeous?_ He wonders. 

"Pelor, huh?" Scanlan quirks a brow, "And you're not in Whitestone?" 

"I was born here." The cleric explains, "Never left. The folks out here needed me more than the folks inside the city walls." 

Scanlan wonders what Percy would think of that justification, given that Whitestone had spent a decade being ravaged by undead. However, he doesn't spend much time with the thought because at the moment, he couldn't care less about Whitestone or Percy. 

"What can I help you small-folk with?" Cruven asks. 

"This—" Kaylie reaches over and pulls Scanlan's shirt up just enough to reveal Raishan's parting gift. Scanlan waves his hands over the wound as if to say; 'ta-da'. 

The cleric makes no indication as to whether or not he's put-off by the sight of Scanlan's wound. He simply nods and moves over to a small doorway on the opposite side of the room, he opens it and waves Scanlan and Kaylie through it. Once they've entered, he shuts the door behind them.

Now they're stood in the shop's storeroom, only it's been repurposed into a healer's den. The shelves are lined with herbs and potions. There's seemingly an endless supply with gauze and other bandaging materials. A wash basin sits besides a low-rising table — Cruven pats the table, indicating for Scanlan to sit there and then begins washing his hands. 

And so with all the elegance he can muster, Scanlan scrambles on top of the table (it's still just a tad too tall for a gnome to climb with ease) and begins unbuttoning his shirt. 

"Well, I don't normally treat injuries like this, seeing as how they'd kill any normal being," Cruven mumbles more to himself than to the gnomes. He's looking at the marks on Scanlan's torso with the utmost awe. "I'm sure you're going to be bragging about this one to every soul in the local tavern." 

Scanlan shakes his head at the thought of the injury that killed him being something he'd show off at a tavern the way Grog showed off all of his knicks and scratches, "Nah, it's not worth the tale. The way I got it was far from heroic."

Cruven lifts his head, "Do tell." 

"It's from a dragon," Kaylie answers. "Ancient. Green." 

"Evidently," Scanlan says. "She was also diseased."

He looks confused, " _She?_ "

"Yes." He replies. Then adds dreamily, "Her name was Raishan and it was truly a night I'll never forget. You see—" 

"That’s fine!" Cruven waves his hand dismissively. "I've changed my mind, I don't want to know the details!"

Scanlan beams with self-satisfaction. Any chance he gets to fill other's heads with impure thoughts is one worth taking.

Kaylie rolls her eyes, "Oh, for fuck's sake! He was trying to kill the damned thing and got that as a souvenir." 

Cruven steps back from Scanlan and moves over to the shelf of books at the far corner of the room. 

"Well, it's not like any natural infection I've seen." He calls over his shoulder. 

"It's magical, then?" Scanlan asks. 

"Potentially." Cruven finds the book he's looking for and brings it over, setting it down beside Scanlan on the exam table. "Do you know how the dragon contracted it's disease?" 

"It was a curse, I think." Scanlan had, of course, listened intently to Raishan as she monologued about her backstory at them but he wasn't going to regal Cruven with every last detail. "Something to do with the Wild Mother, I believe. And whatever it was, she was definitely dying of it."

"If you're dying of it—" Kaylie says with a sarcastic bite, "I wish it'd work a li'l faster."

Cruven gives him a look like he doesn't believe the details of the story but doesn't say a word. Instead, he begins flipping through it fervently, tracing sentences and paragraphs with the tip of his finger and then nodding to himself. "Alright. Let's identify what sort of forces are at work here."

Scanlan gulps, "Is it going to hurt?"

Before Cruven provides him with an answer, he's already got his hand over the gashes, mumbling an incantation to himself. A pale, yellow glow begins to emanate out from Cruven's palm and pour out across the ridges in Scanlan's flesh. The feeling of magic is familiar on his skin but it's not warm and tingly like Pike's restoration magic. And it doesn't tickle like his own healing words. It itches like mad, actually. Now that he looks up, Scanlan can see that Cruven's eyes are emitting the same glow. And then it fades and Cruven shakes his head as though a bug just flew by his ear. 

"Well, it's not magic or a curse. Which is reassuring for you, I imagine." 

"I'll be reassured once it stops oozing," Scanlan says.

"I'm getting to that," Cruven waves his hand dismissively and starts flipping through the book again.

Kaylie taps her foot impatiently, "We've got to heal it the old fashion way?"

Cruven shrugs, "Well, yes." 

"Couldn't you just magic it away, though?" Scanlan asks. 

"Oh, I'm sure." Cruven's tone implies that this is a particularly touchy subject for him. "If you know of some other cleric with that ability?"

Kaylie and Scanlan exchange looks and she doesn't need to actually say anything for him to understand what it means. _This might be a job better suited for Pike._ He shakes his head. They can't go back to Whitestone and he definitely can't ask Pike for help in healing him. Not after what he'd said about her magic. 

"You can always let it eat away at you until it kills you," Cruven says, interrupting the gnomes' silent exchange. "There is always that option." 

Scanlan is still looking to Kaylie, the conversation they had in his room at the inn echoes in the back of his mind. He turns back to Cruven, "So — What? — You whip up a salve and bandaged me up before sending us on our merry gnomish way?"

"That’s essentially the gist of it."

"And that’s all you can do for him?" Kaylie asks, concerned he might be holding out on them.

He nods, "You two can head back to the inn. It'll take me a day or two to make the salve. I'll send word when it's ready. Until then—"

Cruven moves across the room and grabs a bit of cloth and a roll of gauze. He comes back towards him, dipping the cloth in the wash basin besides him. He cleans the dragon claw marks free of pus and dirt from the morning's shenanigans and then begins wrapping the gauze around his mid-section.

"You're going to want to keep this clean."

Kaylie speaks up, "Then he won't be passing out again, right?"

"He _shouldn't_ be passing out at all." Cruven quirks an eyebrow and locks eyes with Scanlan, "The infection isn't nearly that bad." 

"Guess I've just got a weak stomach then!" Scanlan says suddenly, smacking Cruven's hand aside as he begins pulling his shirt over the fresh bandaging. Now he's in a hurry to get out of here. "Thank you very much, Cruven. You know where we're staying. In fact, we've got a gig there tonight. Drop by and see us perform if you want." 

With that Scanlan slides off the exam table and nods his head toward the door, "Come on, Kaylie." 

She looks from Cruven and then back to Scanlan. There is a nervous impatience dancing across her father's face that she knows he thinks he's good at hiding but he can't put anything past her. She's still got questions but there's nothing that says she can't ask them later without Scanlan being present. With a shrug, Kaylie follows her father's lead and exits the back room.

"It was nice meeting you folks," Cruven calls after them but it sounds more like a phrase said out of habit.

Once again, Kaylie and Scanlan find themselves standing in the middle of the dusty streets of the Turst Fields, blinking in the setting sun.

"We should restock on supplies," Kaylie mumbles. "Hand me the coin."

Scanlan does a double take, "Why?"

She rolls her eyes, "Because when I said 'we' what I actually meant was 'just me'."

"You should restock on supplies?" Scanlan says, fishing around in his pockets for his coin purse. 

"Yes! As in, I'm going by myself—" Kaylie says, frustrated. "That I should restock on supplies!"

"Fine by me," He tosses her the purse and she snatches it out of the air. "I'll meet you back at the inn then?"

"Sure. Whatever." 

With that, they part in opposite directions. Kaylie makes her way off to the food market whilst Scanlan picks his way through alleyways and side streets. 

This is a familiar ritual. Of everyone in Vox Machina, Scanlan tended to break off from the group in search of niche shops with interesting trinkets for sale. It gave him time to scope the landscape of whatever township they were in but it also gave him a chance to participate in one of his favorite pass times; shopping. The Turst Fields isn't exactly a hub for luxury goods, however. Most of what is being sold is handcrafted furniture and other household necessities. In summary, the last place you'll find something the likes of Gilmore's Glorious goods.

Nothing in any of the shops caters to Scanlan's particular (some would say 'gaudy') tastes and thus, after a while, he finds himself just pacing through the unfamiliar streets to dawdle away the time. It's then he happens upon an odd scene just as twilight has begun to settle over the village.

Two figures stood in an alleyway. One a human and the other a particularly odd looking humanoid with the face of a dog. Scanlan's only ever seen a handfull of gnolls in his lifetime but he recognizes that this is one. They're huddled rather closely together but he barely gets a good look at them because as soon as Scanlan happens upon them by rounding the corner, he immediately ducks back behind it. They didn't seem to notice him as he can still hear them whispering.

Scanlan peers out from behind the corner just enough to get a look at who is saying what.

"I told you, the price just went up." The gnoll murmurs. "That’s what happens when you skimp on the last payment." 

The human stamps his feet like a child, "But I can't just give you the wages I earned today! It's all I've got, Seekas." 

"Oh, boo-hoo." The gnoll frowns sarcastically, "I'm not your accountant, Bastion. I just sell you suude." 

Immediately, Scanlan leans in closer to the wall he's pinned himself against, craning his neck to get a better listen. His curiosity getting the better of him. He's never actually witnessed a suude deal go down before. Scanlan's smart enough to have a middle man. Forgetting that the only reason he had a middle man in the first place was because he was too dumb to know where to start looking for a dealer. 

The human nods and pats himself down before pulling out a hefty coin purse. He holds it in his palms just staring at it and shaking his head. 

"C'mon now," The gnoll holds out his hands and clicks his tongue. "Hand it over." 

The head shaking turns into nodding and Bastion hands the coin purse over to Seekas. In one wave of the gnoll's paw, he's stuffed the coin purse into his own cloak and tosses a satchel back at the human. 

"That’s business then?" The gnoll asks. "Or would you like an audience to watch you snivel some more?" 

He shakes his head, pocketing the satchel. "N—No, Seekas. That's all."

"Good," The gnoll turns and starts making his way toward the rampart Scanlan is presently pressed against, eavesdropping. "Take care of yourself, Bastion. You are my best customer." 

Quickly, Scanlan pulls back. There's no time to clear the area before the gnoll spots him. So, instead, Scanlan elects to act casual. He leans back, one foot propped up against the brick wall, shoves his hands into his pockets and begins whistling a merry little tune.

Seekas rounds the corner and stops dead when he sets his eyes on the gnome, "What are you doing here?"

Scanlan shakes his head as though he wasn't expecting to be happened upon, "I'm sorry?" 

"Are you eavesdropping on me?" Seekas steps forward, teeth bared as he reaches his paw out, meaning to grab onto the front of Scanlan's shirt. "Who sent you?" 

"Oi!" He shouts, smacking the paw away. "A gnome can't simply be loitering?" 

Seekas quirks a brow, "Loitering or not. Whatever you might've seen or heard? It'd be wise to keep it to yourself, yeah?" 

He laughs, "Actually— I was sort of hoping I might inquire a bit about what I saw." 

"What are you? Guard? Concerned citizen?" 

"A prospective customer." 

Theres a long string of silence. The gnoll's eyes look over Scanlan's expression and then... 

He bursts into hysterical laughter.

After about a minute, Seekas calms himself, wiping tears from his eyes, Scanlan glaring at him all the while.

"Cute." The gnoll pusbhes past him to carry on his way, "But I think you're out of your element, little gnome." 

Seekas' words are a clear indication that Scanlan was no longer worth his time or concern. He's just a harmless little gnome attempting to get up to his waist in trouble because that’s what gnomes do. 

Scanlan doesn't like being written off, however. This situation brings with it a sense of familiarity and suddenly he can't help but recall the casino in Ank'harel. It's there that he was treated as a joke and promptly swindled out of a fair sum of coin by low-life thugs at most. The sort of feat that shouldn't be possible to pull on Scanlan Shorthalt. 

Anger and frustration suddenly begins to boil up in the pit of his stomach. In a moment, Scanlan reaches a hand out and grabs Seekas by the leg of his trousers and tugs the gnoll back towards him. 

"Look," Scanlan speaks plainly but his expression is intense. "I've had a rough couple of weeks, recently. And to top it all off, I'm out of suude and my regular guy is in the next city over. So, I'm going to make this clear for you—" 

He steps back from Seekas and begins murmuring a spell into the palm of his hand. A faint purple glow begins to dance between his fingers. The gnoll now looks more uncertain. 

"Either you cut me a deal right here and now," Scanlan says. "Or I take it." 

"Whoa!" Seekas holds up his paws up in surrender. "Relax, gnome. I'll make a deal with you, alright? But I don't carry my entire product on me, I'm not stupid." Scanlan snorts, "Making deals while it's still light out enough to see your face, that’s not stupid?" 

The gnoll clears his throat and brushes something off his shoulder, "What I'm saying is; Since you're so eager, I'll cut you a deal but I only brought enough suude for snivelly back there. So, we don't make the deal here or now." 

"Then where?" Scanlan presses, "When?" 

"That little tavern in front of town." 

"The Drunken Gourd?" 

"That's it." Seekas confirms with toothy grin. "Meet me there around nine o'clock tomorrow night. Bring your coin, I'll bring the suude. We'll hash out a price." 

"Alright," Scanlan agrees. And with that Seekas darts out of view around the nearest corner. 

He stands there in the empty alleyway with his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage, adrenaline coursing through his veins. No one is there to see it but Scanlan is beaming with a self-satisfied grin and it's only when he realizes how dark it's gotten that he shakes himself out of it, remembering that he's supposed to meet back up with Kaylie. 

It takes Scanlan a little while to find his way back to the tavern. He failed to keep track of exactly which turns he took during his absent minded stroll and thus finds himself wandering all over again. Which is fine because he needs the extra time to think through whatever the hell it was he just pulled back there. 

When he eventually reaches the main road again, he spots Kaylie leaning against a store front. She doesn't spot him right away, too preoccupied with cleaning the dirt from under her nails with her dagger. A few burlap sacks of food rations sit at her feet, one of which she's tapping impatiently. He walks towards her and she looks up, sheathing her dagger and bending down to gathering up the rations. Scanlan moves to help her carry some to which she offers no complaint. 

"Find anything interesting?" She asks, as they walk the short ways back to the Drunken Gourd. 

"Not particularly." He lies.


End file.
